


back that azz up

by thistidalwave



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 23:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thistidalwave/pseuds/thistidalwave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Stiles wishes there was something to do in this house. There had been things when all the rest of the houseguests had still been here, mostly involving stupid games and gossiping a lot, but now that it’s only him and fucking Derek Hale, the atmosphere of even pseudo cheer and fun has turned into cold tension.</i><br/> </p><p>Big Brother reality television show AU in which Derek and Stiles are the final two houseguests.</p>
            </blockquote>





	back that azz up

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [twreversebang](http://twreversebang.livejournal.com/). art [here](http://toyfeels.livejournal.com/645.html)!
> 
> I meant to write something a lot more epic and actually involving plot, but then that didn't happen, so this is what I managed to make happen the night before my posting date. \o/ or something

The Big Brother house is eerily quiet. There’s the constant hum of computer technology in the air, and Stiles can hear the tap in the kitchen dripping the same way it has been for the past few weeks, but other than that everything is still. 

He’s lying on one of the couches in the living room, and it reminds him of when he’d been lying on a significantly more comfortable couch, staring at a television and thinking that maybe if he applied to be on Big Brother it would magically turn his life around. 

Stiles wishes there was something to do in this house. There had been things when all the rest of the houseguests had still been here, mostly involving stupid games and gossiping a lot, but now that it’s only him and fucking Derek Hale, the atmosphere of even pseudo cheer and fun has turned into cold tension. Stiles wishes that anyone else--literally anyone, though he would have obviously preferred the first person he’d made an alliance with, Scott--had made it to the final two with him. He could be having fun, he thinks bitterly, but Derek has never even given off the impression that he knows what fun is. 

He wonders idly where Derek has fucked off to. Probably somewhere he can do loads of push ups--shirtless, of course, because he won’t talk to anyone for longer than two clipped seconds, but he’ll parade his stupid fucking abs all over everywhere. 

Whatever. Stiles would like to go just one blissful waking moment without thinking about Derek. That doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen, possibly ever again, so Stiles will settle for the relative oblivion of sleep.

He’s nearly drifted off despite the way the crack between the stylish orange cushions of the couch is pushing into his back when he hears the distinct sound of a sliding door opening and closing, and then the soft pad of bare feet across the tile of the kitchen floor. He keeps his eyes closed, because while Derek never seems to want to talk to anyone else, he’d certainly had no qualms about interrupting Stiles’ three in the morning cereal and trying to chat almost every night. Stiles is worried that it’s going to carry over into the daytime now that they’re the only ones in the house. 

Derek bangs around the kitchen for a bit, and Stiles figures that he must be making one of those dumb sandwiches with the vegetables that he likes to eat after working out. Derek is extremely body conscious, and Stiles does not trust anyone who exercises that much. It’s a strategy that’s always worked pretty well for him.

Eventually Stiles hears Derek make his way out of the kitchen and nearly breathes a sigh of relief that he’ll be able to move again, but then he registers the sound of Derek sitting down on the end of the couch and _what the fuck._

“I can tell you’re not sleeping, you’re way too tense,” Derek says. “So you can get out of that uncomfortable position if you want.”

Stiles opens his eyes and glares at Derek. “Who made you a body language expert?” he snaps, sitting up and stretching out his limbs. He doesn’t miss the way Derek’s eyes track his movement. 

Derek shrugs and settles back into the couch. “I studied it a bit before I came here,” he says, “but I don’t think you need to be a genius to be able to tell when someone isn’t actually sleeping.”

Stiles snorts. Of fucking course Derek studied body language as prep for a game show. Because he wasn’t annoying enough already. (Never mind that Stiles did the same thing.)

“So,” Derek says, “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh yeah?” Stiles says. “Tell me a new one.”

Derek frowns. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Stiles shrugs, caught out by the way Derek looks genuinely confused, his features softer than Stiles is used to seeing them. “Seems like you’ve been wanting to talk to me a lot lately, that’s all.”

“You’re the only one here to talk to now,” Derek says, his eyebrows still furrowed a little. 

“Yeah, and who’s fault is that?” Stiles snaps, frustrated. “You could have gotten rid of me weeks ago.”

The furrow between Derek’s eyebrows only deepens. He would look like he wants to rip out Stiles’ throat if his eyes didn’t speak his innocence so clearly. “I didn’t want you gone,” he says.

“Why _not_?” Stiles bursts out. “I was clearly your stiffest competition even at that point, so why didn’t you just let Allison stab me in the back and send me to the jury house?” It’s a question that’s been festering in the back of his mind ever since Derek had approached him during one of his many three in the morning bowls of cereal that were meant to be Stiles time and always ended up being Stiles plus one awkward Derek Hale time and told him that Allison wanted him to help her evict Stiles. 

Derek doesn’t answer for a long moment, just staring at Stiles. Stiles gets restless after barely even a second and fidgets nervously with the fabric of his shorts. 

“Why didn’t you evict me instead of Danny when it was down to you?” Derek finally says. “You were in an alliance with him since the beginning, weren’t you?”

Stiles narrows his eyes, his hands stilling. “How did you know that?”

“I didn’t,” Derek says. “Answer the question, Stiles.”

For a moment Stiles can’t even remember what the question was. Derek seems awfully close to him; he’s sure there was more space between them on the couch before, but he definitely can’t remember moving, so that means Derek must have, and he can’t imagine why he would do that. 

Right. Why did he evict Danny. “That was strategic,” Stiles says. “Everyone loves Danny, if we were the final two the entire jury would vote for me to be evicted no question.”

The corner of Derek’s mouth tweaks up a bit. “Everyone likes me, too,” he says.

Stiles splutters. “They do not.”

“They do,” Derek says. “You were just determined to never notice.” 

“Scott doesn’t like you,” Stiles counters. He’s aware that he sounds like a petulant child, but he’s really past caring at this point. He considers crossing his arms to make a point of it.

Derek shrugs minutely. “Out of loyalty to you,” he says. 

Stiles huffs and avoids eye contact. He thinks Derek might be right, and there’s nothing he hates more than someone he actively dislikes being right. 

An awkward silence permeates the air then, and Stiles is considering running away and hiding in the diary room where Derek isn’t allowed to follow him when Derek says, “So, this is our last night in the house.”

“Uh huh,” Stiles says.

“Nothing to do until tomorrow morning.”

“Probably not, nope.”

When Stiles looks up, Derek is staring at him. It’s not unlike all the times he’d be talking to a group of people and he’d look around to see Derek in the corner of whatever room they were in, just looking at him. It makes his throat go dry and his head swim a bit, and it’s just one more reason for Stiles to hate Derek. 

“Your face is really close to mine,” Stiles says. “I thought you had a special personal bubble? Didn’t you rant about that in like the third week? And then--”

He’s cut off by Derek’s lip pressing against his. They’re warm, is the first thing Stiles notices, and a bit chapped, and Stiles is somehow kissing back without thinking about it. He’s kissing Derek Hale. Wait. What. No.

Stiles jumps to his feet and backs away, nearly tripping over the coffee table. “Wh--what the fuck was that?” It’s not like he doesn’t want to kiss Derek, in particular, because there have been times where he’s definitely wanted to kiss Derek as much as he wanted to punch him. It’s more that he’d put those times in the section of his head clearly labelled Do Not Touch.

“Kissing,” Derek says. He looks a bit put upon, like he should be dramatically rolling his eyes but has too much class for it or something. 

“You don’t even _like_ me,” Stiles protests. He stares at Derek for a minute, long enough for a hint of that annoying smirk to appear on Derek’s face, then adds, “And I don’t even like you!”

“I think we both know that’s not true,” Derek says, and Stiles thinks his head actually might explode from indignation.

“We do not!” Stiles says. “I hate you, you hate me, it’s our thing. The hatred. Because we’re in a competition. And we hate each other.”

Derek looks annoyed now. Stiles would feel bad about it, but he totally doesn’t at all. “What makes you think I honestly hate you?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says, “you glare at me all the time. You don’t have any friends. You refused to join in on anything we did together unless it was an actual competition. You’re shit at teamwork, thanks a lot for the billion times you fucked it up when we were paired together for something, by the way. You’re so obnoxious and in everybody’s face all the time while somehow still being standoffish and terrible. And you interrupt my cereal every fucking night to talk about how the weather was or whatever. I don’t care, man, I just want to eat my fucking cereal!”

Derek is silent, then stands and steps toward Stiles. Stiles resists the urge to take a step back, and maybe he sort of regrets it when Derek has suddenly grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and backed him up against the wall, kissing Stiles with bruising lips and teeth against his skin.

“First of all,” Derek says quietly when he pulls away, venom apparent in his tone, “my face just does that glaring thing. I was just looking at you, that’s all.” Stiles might whimper a little, and then Derek is kissing him again. Stiles kisses back this time, flails his arms a little before settling them at Derek’s hips.

Derek pulls away again and says, the bite in his tone disappearing the tiniest bit, “I don’t try to suck at teamwork, I just do.” His hands are shaking where he’s still got them wrapped in Stiles’ shirt, Stiles notes, though with rage or something else, he doesn’t know. He kisses Stiles again, is obviously trying to communicate something in the way his tongue sweeps along Stiles’ lower lip before he withdraws the smallest bit.

“I think you’re making up the obnoxious thing,” he says, the words breathed against Stiles mouth. Derek kisses Stiles softly this time, nips at his upper lip almost playfully. Stiles takes the opportunity to shove his tongue in Derek’s mouth, turning it sloppy and dirty and hotter than he’d ever avoided thinking about. 

It’s a longer break this time before Derek manages to break away from where Stiles had been slowly exploring every inch of his mouth, because it was there and Derek was letting him, the same way he’s been letting Stiles slowly roll his hips against his thigh this entire time. 

“I thought we were friends,” Derek says, barely audible. “I didn’t realize you were annoyed by me interrupting you.”

“I wasn’t,” Stiles says. 

Derek frowns. He looks remarkably adorable when he does that, Stiles thinks, and he doesn’t even bother getting mad at himself for it. “You said--”

“I was, I mean--I really hate your abs, did you know?” Stiles has no idea how he’s supposed to have any sort of serious conversation when he’s this turned on. “Can you just--” He tugs Derek back in so he can kiss him again, just a soft brush of lips. “Last night in the house, right?”

Derek nods, eyes searching Stiles’. Stiles tries to look like--well, he doesn’t know what he’s trying to look like, but it seems to work because Derek leans in to kiss him again. He’s finally unwrapped his hands from Stiles’ t-shirt, and he’s got one arm resting on the wall above Stiles’ head, the other hand on his side. He attaches his lips to the side of Stiles’ neck, and Stiles makes a noise deep in his throat as Derek sucks a bruise into the skin there. His cock is hard in his jeans, but as much as it’s desperate for attention, Stiles is pretty sure he could just make out with Derek for hours and not be all that bothered. 

Then again, it’s been... a really long time, time spent in the house aside, since Stiles properly got laid, and if Derek’s fingers are going to trail their way across Stiles’ hipbone and under the waistband of his pants and boxers, Stiles is certainly not going to stop them. He’ll even help by getting his belt and fly undone, he’s just that sort of gentleman. 

“I just--just need to--” Derek says against the skin below Stiles’ ear, and Stiles barks out a short laugh.

“I’m not stopping you, come on,” he says, and his knees nearly crumple underneath him when Derek finally gets his hand on Stiles’ dick. It’s not perfect, there’s a little too much drag to it, but Stiles is so desperate for it that it barely matters, and when Derek stops for a moment to get his hand wet with his spit, the noise Stiles makes is almost embarrassing. Derek laughs a little and bites at Stiles’ jaw as he wraps his hand around his dick and jerks him off slowly, like they have all the time in the world, even when Stiles tries to insist otherwise by shoving his hips forward. 

Derek’s breath comes in heavy, hot pants next to Stiles’ skin, and Stiles feels disconnected from the world, like all he is is the skin Derek is touching and the heat tingling in every nerve of his body. He knows there’s more, somewhere, but all of it is inconsequential when everything he’s been pretending not to want is happening. 

Stiles is suddenly struck by how much he doesn’t want this to be over, and he manages to pant out a “Wait, wait, stop,” that has Derek immediately freezing and looking up from where he’d had his face pressed into Stiles’ neck.

“What? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just.” He clears his throat. “Just want more of this, not just finished right now.”

Derek doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Stiles thinks maybe that came off a bit differently than he’d initially meant it, but then Derek leans in and kisses him, wet and slow and lazy.

“Let’s find a bed,” Derek says, stepping back and pulling Stiles with him. “Should be really difficult, there aren’t many of those in this house.”

Stiles laughs, and then it turns almost hysterical when Derek joins in, and by the time they do find one of the beds that isn’t horribly uncomfortable, Stiles is pushing a Derek that’s laughing full and bright down onto the bed and crawling over him, leaning in to kiss him and feel him smile against Stiles’ lips. 

“Too many clothes,” Stiles decides, and he leans back to strip off his t-shirt before shoving his hands underneath Derek’s and helping him pull the long sleeved shirt off to throw it to the floor before moving to get rid of their pants. 

“S’better,” Derek says when they’re both naked and Stiles has pressed every inch of their skin he could manage together just because it’s there and he can. 

“Mhm,” Stiles hums, and he leans in to kiss Derek again. Their lips slide together and apart easily, and Derek’s hands slide from Stiles’ shoulder blades down to cup his ass, and then he’s lifting Stiles up and flipping them over on the bed, still attached at the lips. 

Stiles grins into Derek’s mouth, and Derek pulls away to give him a mock stern look. “What?”

“Power hungry,” Stiles teases, and he runs a hand down the muscles of Derek’s arm. “I kind of like the muscles, maybe.”

“Maybe?” Derek asks.

“Maybe,” Stiles says, and then he’s kissing Derek again, rolling his hips up just as Derek pushes his down, and the slide of their cocks together makes them both gasp into the kiss. Stiles fumbles and manages to get his hand wrapped around both their dicks, jerking them slowly against each other at first, then faster just to hear the noises it draws out of Derek. 

Derek is leaning down to suck tiny hickeys along the line of Stiles’ collarbone, and the soft heat of his mouth running light over Stiles’ skin is driving him crazy. He can feel it when Derek mumbles something against his skin, and he’s curious enough to get out a “Wha?” as he slows down the rhythm he’d worked up to. 

“Don’t--” Derek protests, then looks up at Stiles. He looks almost scared, vulnerable like Stiles has never imagined he could from his constant glaring. 

“What did you say?” Stiles asks. His head is swimming and his body is almost numb with how badly he needs to come, but this seems too important to just ignore. 

Derek’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and lifts his shoulders in that tiny shrug Stiles knows well. “I really like you, is all,” Derek says, and he leans in to kiss Stiles again. 

Stiles kisses back and shifts so he can get a better angle to jerk them off, and Derek shifts with him, pulls him up to a sitting position and moves forward so that he’s sitting in Stiles’ lap. He wraps one hand over Stiles’ and the other around his back to support him, and then he’s speeding up how fast their hands are pumping, adding a twist to it, and it occurs to Stiles somewhere in the explosion of feeling his everything has become that maybe he knows why it was so important to Derek to say that.

“I, uh,” Stiles pants into Derek’s shoulder, “like you, too.” 

Derek groans softly and his hand stutters and falls away, his fingernails digging into Stiles’ shoulder, and holy shit, Stiles realizes, he’s coming because of what Stiles said. That goes straight to Stiles’ head, and he barely moves his hand a few more strokes against his cock before he’s coming too, clinging to Derek and digging his teeth into his shoulder in a mock retaliation. 

They stay there for a long while, just leaning against each other and breathing heavily, until eventually Stiles’ back is starting to cramp up and he’s registering how sticky and gross they are. 

“I’ve wanted to do that forever,” Derek says, just as Stiles is going to pull away. “And not in a showmance sort of way, either.”

Stiles smiles in spite of himself. “Bit pointless to have a showmance this late in the game. We all know who’s going to win.”

Derek raises questioning eyebrows, and Stiles winks at him. 

“Oh God,” he says after a second of them grinning dumbly at each other. “I told my father I wouldn’t-- there are cameras everywhere.”

Derek laughs at that. “Yeah, there are,” he says. “We should see if they’d give us the footage.”

Stiles mock gasps. “I knew you’d be a dirty bastard,” he says. 

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” Derek says, and Stiles hears the underlying _you don’t like me_ whether Derek intended it to be there or not. 

“Hey,” Stiles says seriously, “I won’t.” 

Derek smiles and leans in to brush their lips together. “Shower now?” he asks.

“Definitely,” Stiles agrees, and he follows Derek easily out of the bed and toward the bathroom. He lets out a quiet wolf whistle and laughs when Derek turns an accusing glare at him.

There isn’t a hint of tension left in the air of the Big Brother house, Stiles notes--just the easy smile Derek breaks into and the feel of him reaching out to take Stiles’ hand.


End file.
